I used to be a name-caller when I was a kid. But while other kids copped out for the easy name-call like "dork!" or "fat-so" or the ever popular "stuuuuuupid!" I was more creative. I used more flair, more descriptive creativity. Not bound by the single word, my tongue would spin it's glosso-magnificent dance forming strings of abusive prose.

Oh, it was simpler when I was hampered by a less than mature vocabulary; "fart smelling pig" and "nose picking fatty." By Jr. High and High school I had improved enough to stagger the enemy with ditties like "pus faced zit sucker," "lice infested armpit hag," and "tone deaf Monkee reject." Yeah, I had em baby. The secret was in knowing the enemy, at least enough to single out at least one real flaw or insecurity and building from there. I describe the jackass, my second ex as an "alcoholic racist sexist mass of anal retentive obsessive compulsive piece of crap." Actually once he and I had an argument where I pummeled him verbally so badly, building upon the fact that he has no chin, that he not only grew a bread to hide that flaw, he still wears one to this day, some 8 years after the fact! Now THAT'S some fancy name-calling!

So I've never really been afraid of name-calling. It's one of the things I can do right on the spot. It's what I default to when I am pissed or feel threatened in any way. I don't always say it out loud, but I can think fast and furious.

So yesterday, at work, it came as a surprise when I found myself speechless after being called out with a name. Frankly, I thought I'd heard it all. Either I'd received or used every name or slur known to man. Granted, I was blind sided, cold-cocked as it were. I had no idea it was coming.

Young James is one of our students cursed with a childhood no adult should have to withstand. He is, by environment, emotionally scarred for life. Prone to violent outbursts, he spends the majority of his school day locked within the secure familiar calmness of his Harry Potter fantasies. He and I have never had any problems, in fact he always has a smile for me.

I was standing in the hallway talking to Alice and Jackie, two old-timers. like myself. Unlike me however, they are both African American. It matters for this story. Anyway, I hear a disturbance coming from one of the classrooms, and out steps Young James, visibly angry. He spit on the floor and yelled back at his teacher, who was is close pursuit, that he hated her. He was storming for the crisis room, cursing her. He looked up and saw me and yelled out that he hated me too. No big whoop Kids say that crap all the time, I didn't flinch, I didn't say or do anything. I think that's what pissed him off. I mean REALLY pissed him off.

He kind of squared up with me and pointed his finger at me. It's kind of a slow-motion memory. Frankly, I shouldn't let any student, let alone one that is so upset, get that close to me. He lifted his hand, pointing his finger at me. The tip of his finger millimeters from my nose and I stood there, just looking at him.

"You!" He screamed as he pointed his finger right at my face.... The crisis staff began to move into place, I should have moved back or motioned to go hands-on, I mean he really was mad and so close to me, he shouldn't have his finger in my face.

His finger shook.

"YOU!" He screamed again.

He drew his hand back a few inches, shaking, and extended it toward me, all the while trying to conjure up the very worst thing he could think of. He was FURIOUS and wanted to spew it out verbally. His hand came back again, turning slightly. He tensed. As his finger sprang back at me he finally unloaded his venom. As his finger reached it's limit, mere millimeters from my nose he punched out his verbal assault.

I stood, ready....I thought. I thought I'd heard everything, been called everything in the book. Nothing was left. Except...

"YOU.......NEGRO!"

I stood corrected. Never in my 46 years have I been called a negro. The two ladies, remember they are African American, stood stunned. We immediately bit the insides of our mouths, trying to stifle any look that would reveal the hysteria about to burst forth from us.

Once his assault hit its target he proceeded into the room and we looked at each other with wide-eyed shock for a few seconds before we all burst out laughing. It was too soon to wonder about his process and to be saddened by the fact that he thought the worst possible thing in the world was to be called a "negro."

He came by my office later, and apologized for calling me names. I accepted.

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